


Strong we Stand

by kayejwrotes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Canon Divergent, Description of domestic abuse (I'm sorry), Established Relationship - Iwaoi, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship is important here, Hanamaki Family, M/M, Matsukawa Family, Mattsun has a lot of siblings, Mentions of Sex, Multi, Pairings will be added along the story, Pining, Slow Burn, but you'll have to wait for it, complicated child/parent relationship, domestic abuse, like a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2018-12-02 01:37:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11499048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayejwrotes/pseuds/kayejwrotes
Summary: It's just few weeks before graduation.March is approaching and soon they'll be in Tokyo, with Oikawa and Iwaizumi, living together in that little appartament they scouted a while ago.Everything seems settled.Takahiro and Issei only need to keep going for a few weeks.This is a story about friendship, about dealing with problems bigger than yourself, and how they stood strong in front of everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably as good as it can get. I debated for a few days if it was the right moment to post it or if I could change some things again, if I could make it better with some more proofreading.  
> But I'm just stalling 'cause I want it to be good, for other people worked hard to help me polish it like this, and I would never be grateful enough for them: I'm talking about about my lovely betas [iceandbrimstone](http://iceandbrimstone.tumblr.com) \- who gave some good advices on grammar -, and [a-black-painted-poetry](https://a-black-painted-poetry.tumblr.com) (you did a wonderful job and I'll probably never thank you enough for accepting to help me with this).
> 
> So, this is it, my first well-thought long fic that I actually planned and figured out a good update system for it.
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did when writing it! 
> 
> \- Kaye

“Issei?”

“Uhn?”  
  
An exhaled puff of smoke signals to Takahiro that Issei is indeed listening and not completely lost in the little lights, dancing blurrily on the dark surface of the sea of Sendai's port.  
  
“When will your dad be home tomorrow?”»  
  
It's just a normal conversation, really. They usually talk about their routine, about their family’s routines, because they have to manage schedules and balance everything in between school, volleyball practice and part-time jobs, while also helping their parents with caring for their respective siblings. Doing it together makes everything easier.  
  
“He has the night shift tonight so he'll be home probably by 10 in the morning? But I heard from Jirou he'll be out again by two in the afternoon. I think he swapped shifts with Wakano-san again.”

It's just the slightest shrug of shoulders, but Takahiro can tell from that and the restless bounce of Issei's curls that his friend is not really happy about this. Matsukawa-san is overworking again. Mama Matsukawa will almost certainly be heard reprimanding her husband throughout the whole neighbourhood when he comes home.

It may not seem so, but to Takahiro that is a heartwarming image. Whenever she screams bloody murder at him, it's clear as the sun that she loves and cares for her husband. It's a touching picture, if you can ignore for a moment the cracks running along the old wooden pillars of the Matsukawas’ home.  
  
The house belonged to Issei’s grandparents before they passed. They lived there, all eleven Matsukawas when Issei's grandparents were alive. Now they are just nine. Despite the simple and shabby appearance of their house, the Matsukawas were what upper class people would define as "poor but happy".  
  
They didn't really care if the traditional house needed some new shōji or if some of the old wooden pillars keeping it up had seen better days. It was their home, the one Issei’s grandparents bought when they moved from Kyoto to Miyagi, where they decided to settle and start their own happy family. And it is. It definitely is for them, but the Matsukawas are different from his family of almost three. Almost, because his older brothers, Seijuro and Hiroshi were part of his family. They just didn't live with him, his mama and Ayame anymore.

Takahiro knows perfectly he has no right to say jack shit about "poor but happy ", because his family is just as broke as everyone else in the damn neighbourhood. Sometimes though, he can't keep himself from analysing all the little differences between his reality and that of Issei’s.  
  
The Matsukawas love each other. It's what's makes them so special in his eyes.  
They love each other unconditionally.  
Though he doubts the feud currently going on between Momoko and Fumie is a real declaration of sisterly love, Takahiro knows they love each other nonetheless, especially when it comes to the really important things. And that's also why Takahiro loves to spend time at Issei's so much. He's just like another son in the house. He has his place at the dinner table whenever he wants. He helps set the table and clean everything after they're done. He's a part of the Matsukawas, in the same way Issei's part of the Hanamakis, even though they're fewer and the house is often tainted by underlying tension they couldn't always wave off.

Maybe it's just the dark surface of the sea in the local port that always reminds him of the rift in his family's happiness. It's not actually like he can do anything about it, but it also isn’t something he can not think about.

It's part of his existence to worry about things like this. One time, when he was worrying about some zits that would not go away, Issei had placidly told him that the lines of his forehead were as dynamic as the clouds. In contrast, Issei's forehead was always calm, like the ocean on a hot summer day with no wind.  
  
They're just so different, sometimes it's a wonder they work so well together. And yet, they're so attuned to each others presence and mannerisms, that Takahiro is not suprised to find Issei's stare on him. Especially since he didn't say anything after his first question; any further comments hidden beneath his calm demeanour.  
  
“Hiro. Is Ayame coming home with Fumie tomorrow?”  
  
“It's Wednesday, isn't it? She doesn't have club activities on Wednesday so I think yes. She was going to meet her at the usual place and then go back home together. Why?”  
  
“’Cause tomorrow Fumie has that parent/teacher thing she's trying to avoid, so she won't come home with her. I'll pick Ayame up from school after my shift ends.”  
  
Takahiro nods, because this is right. It's natural. They've had old man conversations for most of their lives, managing together what they could, figuring out together what they couldn't.

“I'll pick Fumie up Thursday after school then” he states with an easiness that comes from habit. “Even if I know she'll complain all the way back home 'cause I'm not Hiroshi.” And there it is, that lopsided grin full of mischief on both of their faces.  
  
“He really left her impressed the last time he came with me to pick her up from school.”  
Issei smiles, amused at the memory of his little sister giggling and parading in front of her classmates when she saw Hiroshi and Issei, waiting to pick her up after school. They were both tall with broad shoulders - always a bonus when it came to impressing middle schoolers - and even though Issei was just her high school brother, Hiroshi had around himself that "I'm a really cool university student" aura that seemed to surround him wherever he went. Or maybe it was just the shirt he had been wearing, so different and casually styled compared to Issei's rumpled uniform shirt.  
  
“She really has a little crush on him, doesnt she?” Hiro muses before catching Issei’s mischievous eyes “Ohi! Don't you dare tell her he's got a girlfriend. It would ruin my only mean of influence on her.”chuckles Takahiro at the implied threat in Issei's eyes.

“Me? I would never!” Issei declares jokingly, swinging his legs over the wet surface of the bench. He inhales the last breath from his cigarette, before standing up and crushing the cigarette butt under his old sneaker.  
It's a fluid movement, something Issei has done countless time in front of him, because it's part of their routine. Coming to the dock, watching the twinkling of the ships lamplight disappear over the horizon, getting their thoughts together before going back home. It's a practiced move. Takahiro could probably do it himself with his eyes closed, minus the actual cigarette crushing because he's never liked smoking that much.

It makes his skin awful.  
  
It's nothing fancy, nothing weird, but he can't think about their night chats without that move Issei does to mark the moment they start to go back home. He could never imagine his life without those movements that are so unique to Issei. He surprises himself thinking about it sometimes.  
  
Takahiro looks at him stretching his back, eyes closed and dark curls ruffled by the humid sea air. He's not a fucking teenager - well, he is but that's not important. He won't blush nor avert his eyes when Issei stares back at him. But he can't keep himself from feeling a sort of prickly sensation in his stomach. Maybe it's just hunger. He shrugs all those sensations off. It is easier like that.

“When did you become so built?” he asks instead, lightly jerking his head toward Issei's abs, now covered again by the hoodie that rode up under his coat.

“You know, practice does that to you” Issei declares flatly, with just a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Mine aren’t as defined as yours.”

“Mine aren’t as defined as Iwaizumi's” he claps back without hesitation. They nod together in agreement at this, smirking.

“And he still makes that surprised face whenever Oikawa sneakily touches him”  
Takahiro snickers while standing up and swatting at his jeans to dust off any dirt.  
  
As if they still didn't know about their friends relationship, even if Oikawa had blurted out a confession full of steely determination about it a few months ago. Iwaizumi had looked intensely at them when all of this had happened.  
The tension surrounding their friends had despersed only when Issei had looked at him and declared: “You owe me curry, now that they confirmed it.”  
Everything was put behind just because their friendly bet had taken the spotlight, but Iwaizumi and Oikawa were more relaxed than before.  
  
“Sometimes he's so dense light bends around him.” Issei agrees. Silence.  
  
“That was horrible. Please spare my poor virgin ears from such shitty puns.”  
  
They are now walking back from the dock to a slightly uphill street, lit by the yellow glow of the street lamps. Their breaths are now the only smoke in the chilly February air, but it's not really a problem. They are used to this.

“There's nothing too shitty for your not so virgin ears. You lost that virginal air of yours when you asked Mieko-chan in third grade to be your partner for the first aid practice, _for science_.”  
  
“She had very soft lips” Takahiro replies smoothly, just the shadow of a grin on his lips.

‘Yes, she did” Issei adds after a moment of silence. They burst out laughing together, passing by a row of identical looking houses.

There's silence again, but they don't feel the need to fill it with words. Sometimes it's just nice to walk together in the wet salty air that blows from the dock and enjoy the cold misty silence around them. Everything is calm, and for a moment they can forget about everything.

But that's not what they really want. Takahiro doesn't want to forget anything. He is not ashamed of anything. He won't stand for the pity of the others, especially when there's nothing but dignity and pride and hard work in whatever he sees.  
  
It's a poor neighbourhood, and not every house is well kept. Once or twice a week, there are people screaming at each other from doorways into the street and sometimes there are even things flying, but all in all, it's where he has lived all his life.  
  
He knows all the cracks, the bumps along the sidewalk, all the faded yellow stripes on the street, how many times he will hear the horn of an incoming ship before it docks.  
How many steps he has to take from his doorstep, to Issei's. It's not even twenty, now that he has finished high school. In third grade he counted more than thirty.

It's just a few weeks and then there will be graduation. March is approaching. Everything is already settled.

They'll move to Tokyo with Iwaizumi and Oikawa in that little three bedroom apartment they scouted months ago. The rent is paid almost entirely by Oikawa's parents, who didn't want any of them to pay anything in return for keeping an eye on their son. It wasn’t really necessary, but the flustered whine that left Oikawa when his mum had thanked all of them had been priceless.  
  
They're going to different universities, but living together had felt better than facing the new city alone.  
In the end, Miyagi is still country, with its clear sky at night, and the eerie silence just before dawn. And yes, they live in Sendai, but Miyagi-no its just a suburban neighbourhood with no pretence of grandeur in its streets.  
It's quiet there at night, far from the busy Johzenji-dori and Aoba-dori, bursting with life and lights at every hour of the day. He can't imagine how it will be sleeping with so many sounds surrounding him, if he'll sleep at all.

Oikawa had been talking their ears off about college parties, clubbing and so on, before Iwaizumi showed him the schedule of their training practice with the new team. He had immediately shut up about living the college student life and started strategising about how to make it to first string in the first year of college. Heck, with his determination, they might even make it.

Even if it wasn't for the parties, the clubs or just Oikawa movie nights, Takahiro knows he'll probably be dead in the morning for the first few months. He has always had a complicated relationship with his sleep schedule.  
  
Issei is whistling slightly off pitch now, but it's nice and Takahiro hums along with him until the faded yellow of his house comes to view.

As always, the red lamplight in the top right corner of the door is lit. It's a fisherman house thing, his mama had told him once. Fishermen used to come and go every day on little boats just before the sun rose and that was their signal. Their families used to hang the little lamplights under the verandas, just above the door, and lit them to let them know they were waiting for their fishermen to come home. Their loved ones lit the red lamplights to guide them home through thunderstorms and misty nights, when the lighthouse hadn't been built yet.

Sometimes Takahiro has the impulse to take the red lamplight and throw it away, but it's not like his petty gesture would actually change anything. The little lamplight is only an old tradition. Today ships had the pier lighthouse to guide them home, and more sophisticated instruments to help them keep the right direction.

His father would stumble home in any case, red lamplight lit or not.  
  
There's a light pat in between his shoulders, just below his neck, and Takahiro jumps, almost slipping on the wet pavement under his shoes, but Issei is quick to catch him by his elbow. They just look at each other for a moment, a quick _"You okay? What were you thinking about?" "Yes, I'm okay, don't worry"_ passes unsaid between them, before the grips on Takahiro's elbow is gone and Issei smiles fondly at him, putting some distance between them.

“You're so clumsy sometimes I wonder if you still fall off of your bed at night.”  
  
“Uh, fuck off.” Takahiro shoves him lightly, before smiling too.

Issei takes a step away. “See you tomorrow morning.”

“See ya.”

“... Don't trip on the door Hiro. I'm not that fast.”  
  
“Shut up, you jerk!” but Issei's already sprinting toward his door, a few steps further, and his low laugh is lost in the February night.  
  


 

* * *

  
  
Takahiro plays with the old flip phone in his jacket with one hand, while looking for the right key with the other. He has too many of them, but it's okay. It only takes a bit longer to find the right one for his own door.

Helped by the red light of the lamp, the white mark he left on the key is easy to find and as soon as he puts it in the keyhole and twists it, he feels the cool February air seep into his bones and chill him to his core.  
  
The door is already open. He stays frozen like that for a moment, thousands of thoughts swirling through his mind, barely able to keep the panic at bay. Then he is sprinting inside without bothering to take off his shoes in the genkan, because who the fuck cares when there could be an intruder in his own house? The door collides with the wall at his side, but he isn't worried about keeping silent because panic has kicked in and the only thing he can think of right now it's that his mama and Ayame could be in danger.

Their house is a small one, only their kitchen, a bathroom and two little bedrooms upstairs, so it's easy to find the intruder: the kitchen entrance glows with the yellowish light of that old lamp that Takahiro dislikes so much. He hates yellow light: it's so tacky. His mum had finally caved in about changing the colour of the lamplight a few weeks ago, when the lightbulb had given the first signs of distress.  
  
There's a faint rustling coming from the kitchen, and Takahiro slows his steps, takes a deep breath, trying to be as silent as possible. It's useless thanks to the slamming door from a few seconds ago, but he tries to be sneaky nonetheless. Maybe the intruder is just a burglar, looking for some spare money - as if they had any in the kitchen - and he hopes he's not armed. He crouches on the floor before peeking a glance from behind the opened kitchen door, and the first thing he sees is Ayame.

She's crouched under the kitchen table, trying to make herself as little as possible in between the chair's legs. She is covering her mouth with both her hands to keep her sobs at a minimum, but she's shaking so much she has to clasp her hands tightly to not let something escape. Her light brown hair is stuck to her face, caught in the trail of tears down her cheeks. But what freezes Takahiro at first are her eyes: they are utterly terrified and somehow pleading all at once.

"Thank God you are here! Go away, Hiro-nii! Go away!"

Takahiro doesn't know what comes to his mind first, but what he sees right after Ayame has his blood boiling.  
His father is at home.  
He looks up, over the table's profile, and only now he takes in the other two people in the kitchen.

His mum's sewing kit is scattered on the floor: needles, pins and coloured spools of thread, mixing with broken dull green glass.

His eyes continue to move upwards and he sees his mama, backed up against the kitchen counter, a shocked look on her face mirrors the one in his father's eyes, still glazed by the alcohol.

It's in this moment that he sees it all: his mama’s hands are frozen up before her chest, bloodied, and there's something green glinting between the blood oozing from the cuts on her skin; his father has a broken beer bottle in his right hand and is staring at it with an incredulous expression, as if he's not entirely convinced it's his hand that he sees.  
  
Takahiro doesn't think. He jumps up with a feral cry, making everyone in the room jump with him. He circles the little kitchen table with just a step and yanks his father away from his mama by the back of his jacket with both hands. His father struggles against him, now that the shock of his appearance has left place for a sort of instinctual reaction.

But he's drunk and sluggish, and Takahiro has all the time in the world to shove him out of the kitchen, out of their house, under the veranda. He pushes him to the ground, angrier with every second that passes. He looks down at his father, trying to stand up and failing, and disgust piles up with fury in his gut. Takahiro lowers himself, jerking his father by his jacket, looking into his eyes searching for something he doesn't know and he doesn't find, and then, the screaming starts.

“HOW COULD YOU!? YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT!” he screams, not caring if someone hears him and comes. He doesn't give a fuck about it.

“You fucker! You're a piece of human trash! You don't deserve her!”

With every word he throws a punch at his father, rage mounting with every moment that passes without a reaction from the man. He isn't even trying to stop him now, too drunk to even raise a hand to save his face. His disgust is taking a nastier shade, as if Takahiro is only just beginning to realise who he's beating up: his unworthy father.

“You trash! You useless jerk!”  
He socks him in the nose and after a few moments blood starts pouring from it, coating Takahiro's knuckles but he doesn't care. With every lack of reaction, he gets more furious with blind animalistic rage. He wants to destroy him.

“How could you do this to her! I wish you had died that day! It would have been better for us!” and suddenly he's not punching his father's face but there are strong arms restricting him, keeping his fists against his chest and dragging him away from the seemingly lifeless form on the ground.

Takahiro thrashes and shouts against the person keeping him away, but a murmured word it's just what's necessary to make him stop:

“Hiro.”

Issei says it with such a broken voice that he's jerked forcefully from his anger.

There are other people now, watching the scene, and he sees his mum and Ayame looking from the front door. Ayame has her face hidden in their mother's shoulder, trembling, unable to look at their father’s unconscious form on the ground. Takahiro has his eyes fixed on his mother's but her look is unreadable. What he manages to catch is only a barely contained rage, the same that's still shaking him, despite Issei's strong arms around him keeping him rooted.

  
Issei's younger brother, Jirou, is in his sweatpants and hoodie, hand fisted in his dark curls, while talking at light's speed with someone on the phone. He's barefoot on the sidewalk but doesn't seem to care, too preoccupied with describing the scene before his eyes to the police.

  
Takahiro can't keep his eyes from his mum and Ayame, standing before their front door, and everything for an instant doesn't make any sense.

Everything seems so wrong, his rage is something detached from him for a moment. Everything comes at a slower pace to him. He can see every detail of the scene surrounding him: the ambulance coming in, the police too, and more curious people from the neighbourhood. He can see Mama Matsukawa clacking with her slippers on the wet pavement, scowling fiercely with the same thick eyebrows Issei has. The only thing keeping him present, the only thread that doesn't let him loose himself in this whirlwind of details, it's Issei’s steady breath against is back, his strong grip around his ribcage. But his eyes catch his father moving and it all comes back again. The fury, the desire to give him back tenfold all the pain his father inflicted on his family in those years, the disgust.

He jerks forward, ready to start again, and Issei's barely able to keep him still, the hold around him becoming stronger if possible.

«HIRO!» he shouts, and Takahiro is suddenly hoisted up on his shoulders, and forcefully dragged away from there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta is a wonderful person and deserves all the praise I can give. She did an amazing job with this chapter too. You should definitely go check her ao3 rivers-of-tea and tumblr a-black-painted-poetry !  
> Also we have art coming soon for this fic!  
> I'm surrounded by wonderful and talented people, and this keeps me motivated to do better with every new update!

They've been staring at each other for almost half an hour now.

Or, more accurately, Issei has been staring at Takahiro. They're both sitting on the tatami floor in Issei's room, but Hiro wasn't looking at him. His eyes were fixed on his hands, clenching and unclenching his fingers repetitively. Not a word had been said since they’d come into Issei's room.

The police had come at some point. They had asked the usual questions and compiled their report while the paramedics checked Takahiro's mom's hands. Hiro had answered every question with an unnaturally calm and collected expression, such a stark contrast to his face just a few minutes before - had it been that fast?

Issei was ready behind him, but for a while it seemed everything was quieted. That lasted for only an instant, because the moment his father had been awakened by the paramedics trying to check him too, he had started shouting something at Junko, and Takahiro lost it again. Issei had to hold him back and drag him away again before he assaulted his father another time.

Hiro had shouted from his position on his shoulder, but since Issei had deposited him on the floor he hadn’t moved from his place, sitting with his legs crossed, slightly hunched, and with this unblinking stare that's making Issei worry like a mad.

As if he hadn't been worried since he had heard the first shout that night.

  
He would have recognised Takahiro's voice anywhere, but he had never heard something so broken, so furious, so... hurt, coming from him.

Usually, Hiro is quite the stoic one when it comes to serious things like these. He doesn't freak out. God... sometimes he doesn't even flinch. He usually takes everything that comes to him and just goes with it. Sometimes he takes it with all he has and fights back, but in a really cool way. As if not being emotionally affected by it.

Issei's grandma used to tell them that Takahiro had the unwavering heart of a geisha, but maybe that was just her projecting while reminiscing her younger days.

Issei hasn't got something to compare Takahiro to. He's just Hiro to him. His best friend Hiro, the one that freaked out over a few pimples the day before they started high school, and just blinked at Jirou when he came to them asking for a condom.

  
He remembers that occasion so clearly.

Issei had stared, surprised at his younger brother's request, ready to tell him "No" because he was too young to have sex with anyone and how the hell did he think he’d get one so easily from Issei.

Hiro had just blinked once at the surprising request, before standing up, taking his wallet out and giving one to Jirou while asking casually if he needed a demonstration of how to use it.  
Jirou had left the room, burying deeply in his pocket the square piece of foil, with the tip of his ears flushed and a murmured “No, I think I’m okay, thanks” before hightailing out of the room.

  
Issei had been freaking out for a while after, unable to believe his little brother was actually so grown up - hell, they were just a year apart but it made him feel _so old_. Hiro had calmed him, only saying it was better this way than having Jirou come to them asking help because he had had unprotected sex with someone. He had resumed the manga he was reading like nothing happened, that unfazed expression of his still there on his face.

Issei tended to exaggerate. He took everything too seriously in Hiro's humble opinion, even if he disguised it with that "deep in thought" expression of his, but this time, Issei's more than weirded out by his friend's behaviour.

This thing with his father - it’s weird to think about it as an episode of domestic violence, because Issei knows Takahiro's father, and he knows his mother even better. Everything that happened tonight was just so... Takahiro had been shaken to his foundation.

He had reacted violently, accordingly to seeing his mother attacked, his family endangered. He didn't have a moment of hesitation in beating his father to the floor. Issei didn’t know what he would have done in a similar situation, but right now he doesn't even want to think about it: he's worried for Hiro.

  
He's not sure how to handle him in the state he is in, but Issei just can't stand to see him like this, staring down at his hands, knuckles still covered with dried blood.

At least he can fix this. It's nothing, debatably not the most important thing to do right now, but it’s as good a place as any to start.

He gets up, taking the wet washcloth that has been waiting beside him all this time, and sits again in front of Hiro. He doesn't seem to have acknowledged Issei’s presence yet.

  
Without a word he takes one of his hands, stopping him from the "clenching-unclenching" he has been doing for a while now, and starts washing it with long delicate movements.

  
He keeps Hiro's hand tightly in his own, dedicating the same attention to every finger, his palm, the back of his hand, as if he was trying to wash away more than just some dried blood and dirt.

  
He can feel Hiro's stare on him, watching him intently as he takes his other hand and proceeds to clean that too. He repeats his movements, slowly, taking his time, ignoring the fact that Takahiro has started taking short little breaths.

  
He doesn't need to lift his eyes from his hands to know what’s happening.

Takahiro curls his fingers tightly around Issei's - wet washcloth lodged in between their hands but who cares, really. His fingers are knobby in the middle, but long and strong, with slightly longer nails on his right hand. The palms are pale when all the dried blood has been washed away, rough with calluses where fingers and palm connect.

They’re less chubby and more boney now, so different from when they used to hold hands at every crossing while coming back home from elementary school. He hasn't touched them for this long in years.

They’d long since stopped holding hands at every street crossing.

These days the only touches they get are high fives, fleeting brushes of fingers, things like that. And it’s only been a few months since Issei realised he kind of misses those free, casual touches. It isn't like they’ve stopped doing them on purpose: they’ve just grown up, he’d probably say if someone asked him about it.

But some things never change: Issei will always recognise Takahiro's hands. No matter how long it’s been since he has held them in his own.

He knows them by heart. He doesn't need to even see them to know who they belong to. The feeling they leave on his own hands is more than enough.

  
He has held them in his own so many times, in so many different situations. He has watched as sometimes just a twitch, a feather-light movement, gives away Takahiro's real thoughts, revealing what's going on inside his mind. He has felt them change through time, but their restlessness, their open way to express feelings is still the same since third grade.

Even now Takahiro's hands do all the talking he can't quite manage.

Takahiro is clutching Issei's hands so hard that for a moment he's worried he will break them, but then the hold on his hands relents a bit and Takahiro's forehead is on his shoulder, nose buried just under his collarbone without worrying about getting snot or tears on his sweater.

  
Issei doesn't flinch on the outside. He stays there, only lifting a hand to gently caress Hiro's neck in a comforting way, but he can't deny the fluttering sensation he feels as his gut stirs to life.

He should be ashamed for this, for feeling that warmth spreading inside him in this situation, but he gladly welcomes it, radiating from Takahiro's face onto his chest.

He can't help himself, because Takahiro is leaning on him. No one else. Just him.  
And even if it’s just a friendly gesture this feels right, comfortable. It’s nice to be reminded that Hiro can count on him, can lean on him whenever he needs to.

They stay like that for a while until Takahiro’s sobs and tremors transform into barely whispered words.

“...How? How could he?”

He’s not crying anymore, trembling in his arms instead, almost vibrating from the force of the emotions he’s feeling.  
  
It’s full on rage, barely controlled because the object toward whom it’s directed is not there, but the fire in his eyes is clear as day. Takahiro is trembling in fury, tense as a bowstring, only rooted by Issei’s warm presence.  
  
Issei can’t find the words to calm him. He doesn't even know what Hiro needs to hear in this moment. To Issei, Hiro has every right to be this furious, even if it’s unsettling to watch.

  
He knows Takahiro's family like his own. He knows their problems, their relationships, their lives. He knows what Hiro says to him whenever the topic comes up. He knows what his mom and dad whisper between each other when they are convinced no one's listening.  
  
It's a different family from his own, mainly for their parent's relationship.

Hiro's parents had married on a whim, because Junko was pregnant with Seijouro. They had barely graduated high school and suddenly Junko found out she was pregnant with Katsuya's child. Their parents had abandoned them to their fate, the shame they cast upon their families too much to bear.

  
They were young, inexperienced, scared, but Katsuya had married Junko happily: she was the only woman he'd love 'till the end of time, he had drunkenly confessed one night to Issei's father.

  
They were so poor at first, but Issei's grandparents had helped them from the very start.

  
They had known Junko and Katsuya for a very long time - Junko always stopped by to chat with Issei's grandma every time she came back from school: helping the new parents came natural to them, as if they were their own children. They had cared for little Seijouro when Junko started working again, and they did the same for Hiroshi a few years later.

  
If Issei's parents had lived in his grandparent’s home from the start, he and Hiro would have probably grown up together like that.

Junko and Katsuya's love was an unsaid fact: despite their shotgun wedding, their love grew with their family, and even if in the last few years everything started taking a downwards turn, their love was never questioned. They may be living through a rough patch, but this didn't affect their love for each other or their children. It went unsaid. It was a given.

  
That was why Takahiro had been so shocked when he had witnessed the consequences of his father's drunk violence against his mother. Issei was sure this was the real reason for it.

  
Hiro had said multiple times how he was disappointed, how he disapproved of his father’s incapacity to face his trauma and move on with his life like everyone else did, but he would never have imagined - not even in his worst moments - his father attacking his mother.

“He loves her. How could he?” Hiro had been repeating this for a while, face hidden against Issei's chest.

“...I don’t know, but…” Issei tries, waiting for the right words to comfort his friend to come, but Takahiro clenches his hands into fists and suddenly stands up, a hurt look in his eyes despite all the rage he’s displaying. And somehow, Issei knows there’s not an inch of Hiro’s internal turmoil that’s directed to him. He’s just there to witness it.

“HE FUCKING HIT HER WITH A BOTTLE!” He shouts starting to pace rigidly in the little room. Issei can only follow him with his eyes, cataloging every little detail of Takahiro’s anger. It’s like watching his friend through a magnifying lens: every little flinch, every little nervous twist is enhanced, analysed, examined.

“He hit her with that fucking beer he always buys when he’s in town ‘cause he’s a fucking alcoholic and can’t act like a normal person!” Hiro doesn’t care if the whole neighbourhood listens to him yell at no one in particular from Issei’s room.

“He hit my mother with glass - _my_ _mother…_ _his_ _wife…!_ \- and he’d probably hit Ayame too, but he was too fucking drunk to even care his own daughter was in the room! Should I be grateful he was too drunk to see his daughter, or should I be angry ‘cause he was drunk from the beginning ‘cause he isn’t man enough to just keep going with his fucking life?!”

Issei is not a quick person. He doesn’t react on a whim, he doesn’t rely on gut feelings. He usually needs time, information. He’s careful not to judge too quickly. He’s careful not to suppose anything. He needs to understand every little detail shown to him before deciding which action is the right one to take. He needs to think thoroughly about things.

With Takahiro this should be easy. They’ve known each other for so long. They’ve studied each other’s mannerisms, reactions, habits for a long time. They probably know each other inside out, or so Issei likes to think. But it’s just an illusion.

There will always be parts of Hiro he doesn’t know, he’s sure Takahiro sometimes feels the same about him.

But right now it’s unsettling and makes him look at his friend anxiously, trying to come up as fast as possible with a route, a course of action to take because it pains him to see Takahiro like this. So hurt, so furious, so sad.

He needs to do something and needs to do it fast because Takahiro is still pacing back and forth, stomping angrily on the tatami of his room and yelling his desperate fury at the ceiling, just letting it flood out of his system. But it’s not getting out, just piling up to hit him with the next wave.

Hiro lights up like a match, and with the right blow of wind his fire will die easily, but it’s risky to act like this: Issei’s afraid he’ll just take the lit match and throw it in an oil barrel unintentionally.

Words fail him right now, but Hiro has stopped pacing. He’s seething in the middle of the room, his back facing Issei, no more yelling and shouting, just a soft murmur that speaks of anger cooling and settling in his bones, rooting there to grow into something vicious.

That’d be the worst thing to happen, so Issei acts.

He stands, circling Takahiro’s still form, hugging him closely, keeping him firm against his chest. He keeps him there like that. This worked before, why hadn’t he thought about this first thing? Touch had always been something primarily useful with helping Takahiro come to himself from whatever emotional state he fell into.

It calms him.

Even if Hiro’s arms with their clenched fists don’t relax, something seems to loosen somewhere inside him, because when Issei starts talking to him, a steady stream of words - not reassuring nor anything else, just… words - his head is leaning back on Issei’s shoulder, stare fixed on that dark spot on the ceiling.

But he’s listening, and that’s enough.

“...You know, you can’t fix this all by yourself. Right now all of this” and Issei jerks a little with his head “doesn’t help you. And it doesn’t help your family. And mine too ‘cause mom’s gonna be pissed off at us tomorrow for waking up Kei - and we have definitely woken him with all this shouting - but that’s not really the point.”

The strength of Issei’s hug relents a bit, but Takahiro keeps staring at the ceiling without moving. There’s a little curve of a smile on his lips now. Good.

“You need to calm down Hiro, ‘cause this is going to hurt you even more if you don’t just… let it go for now.” He continues talking in the same, even tone of voice. As if taming a wild beast. He’d probably try it on Kyoutani once during training, but the guy just listens to Iwaizumi. And it’s not even fair to call him a beast. He’s just a bit… unruly sometimes.

“Think about your mom and Ayame. They need you to stay calm now and help them pick up the pieces. You can’t help them if you crumble like this. But you need to be able to crumble too, ‘cause it’s not right to have you to do everything yourself… Fuck! Call Hiroshi, ‘cause he should be there to help you with everything. And Seijouro too. It’s useless right now to keep thinking about it. You’re not going to solve this mess in one night, Hiro.”

He pauses, opening his hug to let Takahiro do whatever he wants. If he needs to stay there a little bit more Issei is more than happy to help, but that’s up to Hiro. His breathing is calmer now.

Issei waits, looking at Takahiro for whatever will come next because he’ll be there to take whatever his friend will throw at him, be it a request for help, a hug, or just a punch ‘cause Issei overstepped and he’s going to yell some more just because he can.

“You know… Your mom will never be pissed off with me.” Hiro tells him slowly, lowering his eyes from the ceiling to look at him. His eyes are a bit glassy, but nothing he can’t disguise as exhaustion. It’s been a long day, it’s okay to feel exhausted.

“Just because you listen to her talking about whatever gossip she has heard, it’s not going to spare you from her scolding tomorrow.” Issei quips back flatly, but there’s a soft look in his eyes. It seems like everything has quieted again for the moment.

“I’m too cute to be scolded by her.” Takahiro replies with a quick brush of the hem of his sweater over his eyes, and Issei can see him sigh deeply before he turns toward the closet where he keeps his futon and the spare one that is not exactly spare ‘cause more often than not his mom has labelled it as “Takahiro’s”.

“Too cute my ass.” He says while taking the two of them out and messily laying them on the floor.

“Your ass isn’t cuter than me, sorry” Hiro claps back, throwing himself like a dead weight on the soft covers of the futon. Suddenly he feels tired from everything, as if the burst of anger has left him drained.

“My ass is incredibly cute. Now sleep if you can. I’m too tired to argue about which ass is cuter here.”

This isn’t what Issei hoped for, but it’s okay. They’ll work from there. If Takahiro needs to talk about something else for now, Issei will talk about whatever he wants. They’ll talk about it in the morning, with a few hours of sleep and all the heat from this night behind them.

Issei turns away for a moment to send a quick text to Iwaizumi and Oikawa, to inform them of the situation. He’s Takahiro’s best friend, but he will need all of his friends in this moment and Oikawa and Iwaizumi won’t hesitate to help anyway they can. Issei is sure of this.

He doesn’t wait for their answer ‘cause it’s half past two in the morning and he needs to catch at least a few hours of sleep. Issei turns to tell one last thing to Takahiro, but he's already sleeping, mouth slightly open and right arm hooked under his pillow.

Issei shrugs his shoulders with a soft smile for his friend and then falls onto his futon, trying to get some sleep.

They’ll face whatever the new day will bring tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated!  
> Also, I'm flattered by the amazing feedback this fics has received. I would have never imagined and I'm so grateful people decided to give it a look.  
> Thank you, really. I hope I kept up the good work with this chapter too.  
> Come talk to me at @kayejwrotes on tumblr!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was sort of difficult for me.  
> If it wasn't for the wonderful job my beta @a-black-painted-poetry (or rivers_of_tea on Ao3) did, it wouldn't be half as good as it is.  
> I'm really grateful for her help and support!  
> I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do!
> 
> Also, @wannabegeo on Tumblr did [this](https://kayejwrotes.tumblr.com/post/164186997802/wannabegeo-takahiro-looks-at-him-stretching) amazing fanart of chapter 1!  
> I love it so much! She's amazing!

The night was finally coming to an end and Hajime couldn’t wait to go home and crash on his bed.

The last few days of training had been stressful. Even if they didn’t make it to nationals, coach Irihata required them to be in perfect shape until the end of their last year of high school. He believed it was a good way to remind their kouhai of how much work and dedication volleyball required. But Hajime didn’t mind. After all these years, training had become a part of his routine, as was helping his parents in the family izakaya whenever there were busy nights like these.

He dragged the last empty barrel of beer into the little street that faced the back of the izakaya, so that their beer supplier would find it the next morning. The slightest grin stretched his lips when Hajime felt his tired biceps relax in the fabric of the white t-shirt with the family lotus logo on the sleeve. He was tired, but incredibly satisfied and somehow… relaxed.

Just a few hours and the last customers would go home.

“Izumi no Hasu” was a really well known place among the young’uns: the term “young” indicating a varied age group that included people in their twenties to people in their fifties; calling the older patrons anything other than young in front of his mother would guarantee a sonorous chop on his head for sure. She was in her fifties too; Hajime understood where she was coming from with this.

His mother’s family had had the izakaya for years, but only since his mom and dad took the business, had the place really become “famous”.

He didn’t know what the difference was between his grandparents’ management and that of his parents, but his earliest memories were full of the izakaya’s noise made of chatter, laughs, and the never-ceasing sizzling of pans and grills.

It was comfort and thrill in the same sound. It was one of his favourite sounds in the world, along with the infectious laugh of the other occasional waiter at “Izumi no Hasu”.

He entered the main room from the back door, welcomed by that same laugh roaring over the others while refilling the umpteenth beer of the night for the customers sitting at the counter.

Oikawa smiled and chatted with everyone, beaming with his own internal light whenever Jun-san, with her grin on her lips and a dramatic sigh, announced that she “couldn't possibly survive the night without her best waiter!”

Oikawa would gasp, naturally, hastily changing into one of the izakaya’s t-shirts, before proceeding to reassure her that “her valiant waiter in shining apron had come to her rescue!” Then he would get to work next to her, refilling drinks and keeping the customers happy and entertained.

Hajime completed the little scene, directing annoyed looks at them both and making retching sounds behind their backs, but everyone could see the amused smile on his lips; it was all part of their scene.

He loved having Tooru there to help. He loved how his mother beamed behind the counter, at ease and in control in her own element. And he also loved his father’s booming voice calling from the kitchen whenever orders were ready to be served.

Hajime would usually be everywhere and nowhere at the same time: bouncing back and forth between kitchen, counter and the other private little rooms where guests could party and relax. Sometimes, at the end of the night, Tooru would join him, helping him to send off the exiting customers and tidy up the empty rooms. At this point of the night, they’d usually be too tired to even talk, but being in each others presence was enough.

‘Tired’ was maybe a light term for what they were experiencing, but ‘exhausted’ felt like giving in to his mother's taunts about “boys being of a stronger fibre back then.”

However, they were exhausted when finally his father switched off all the fires on the stove and went out to turn off the huge tacky red lamp with the izakaya name inked on it, signalling to everyone that “Izumi no Hasu” was closed for the night.

Fucking finally. It was nearing two in the morning when they finished cleaning everything and were free to go home.

Tooru and Hajime reeked of fried vegetables and grilled meat when they parted from Hajime’s parents, directed toward Oikawa’s home.

They had always spent half of the week sleeping at the other’s home, but it was a relief, walking the way back home hand in hand, now that everything was out in the open with their parents. They usually didn't allow themselves to be this open about their relationship in public, but at two in the morning the streets were deserted and they were too tired to actually care.

Even if they’d catch them sneakily kissing in the genkan, there would be no scandalised faces or disapproving stares. It was just Tooru and Hajime coming back home after a very long day. And there was also really no use in making them sleep in separate rooms now, because in the next few months they would sleep together on a daily basis, in their own apartment, with their own king size bed. It would just be hypocritical to try to keep them from each other.

They showered and changed into their pyjamas in that tired comfortable silence from before, ready to fall asleep in each other’s arms, when Tooru suddenly sat up on the bed saying he had forgotten to set his phone’s alarms.

Hajime didn’t even look at him while he was doing it. He just waited with his arms open, staring at the ceiling, enjoying the sensation of Tooru's pillows under his head. They always smelled amazing because of some weird flowery fabric softener Oikawa’s mom used and they were so soft under his head! As if they were just waiting for a tired Hajime to lay on them.

He was thinking about how he had to ask Tooru’s mom what she used to make them smell so good because this was one of the things he’d want to smell all his life, when Hajime noticed his boyfriend was taking too long to actually set some alarms. Tooru needed more than one alarm to wake up in the morning, but not enough to take more than one minute to set up.

He turned his head, greeted by the sight of Tooru’s perplexed expression staring at the screen, illuminated by the blueish light of his phone.

“What?” He muttered tiredly, turning on his side toward Tooru.

The other simply thrusted his phone under his nose, managing to temporarily blind him.

“What…! Tooru what the actual fuck…?!” Hajime started to protest, until he focused on the opened message on the screen.

 

**_Mattsun (080-XXX-XXX3)_ **

_We’re having a rough night here_  
Hanamaki’s dad fucked up big time  
DON’T ASK HIM ANYTHING  
I’ll explain it all tomorrow  
Just.. I dunno, fucking be prepared

 

“What the hell does this mean?” Hajime whispered looking at Tooru, giving his phone back to him, his bewildered expression mirrored on Tooru’s face.

“I have as much insight in this as you do. Mattsun only sent this and is not answering back.” His boyfriend replied with a worried glance back at the screen before locking it and setting it on the shelf next to his bed.

“Wasn’t his father going to stay away for another couple of months?” Hajime could vaguely recall something like this being said in between training, but Tooru just shrugged his head, flopping back onto the mattress and curling into his boyfriend’s comfy embrace.

“He clearly didn’t, seeing what Mattsun sent.”

There was a moment of silence, before Tooru shivered with a passing thought.

“Do you think something happened to Ayame or…”

“No, no” Hajime reassured him quickly, carding his fingers through Tooru's soft hair. “I mean, I don’t think so. Mattsun would have told us if it had, wouldn’t he? At least I hope…”

They both knew that Mattsun and Makki didn’t always share with them what actually happened in their own houses. They’d always been private about those kind of things, and it was only because of a random accident in their first year at Aoba Josai that Hajime and Tooru got a glimpse into their private lives.

After discussing skin products for acne with Hanamaki for the better part of a weeks worth of training, Tooru had finally convinced his sister - at the time working part-time in a beauty store - to bring home some of those wonderful products she had lent him for his own acne. He had readied a little box full to the brim to give as a gift to his new friend, but when he had remembered to take it to school, the boy wasn’t in class.

One of his classmates told him that Hanamaki was home with a fever, and that Matsukawa hadn’t come to school either.

Tooru didn’t want to take the box back home, so after a lot of charming smiles, the school secretary had told him Hanamaki’s address. It wasn’t exactly near the school, so Oikawa had roped Iwaizumi into accompanying him.

Along the road, they wondered if their address was the right one. They were headed unmistakingly toward the ports and it seemed...odd, given the fact that none of their friends had ever mentioned living near that area. But when they finally arrived and rang at the address given to them by the school, someone had shouted something they couldn't understand and finally a bored Matsukawa had opened the door.

His expression changed suddenly from bored to aware and somehow guarded. Oikawa and Iwaizumi didn't know what to think about all of this, but after a few moments that seemed like eternity, Mattsun appeared to have come to some sort of decision and had let them in.

They had a long conversation after that.

For a while after the accident, everything seemed as though what they had all thought was the start of a good friendship, was destined to crumble. But after realising how much Hajime and Tooru didn’t care about where they came from, Mattsun and Makki had relaxed a lot around them. Their friendship had actually come out stronger because of it.

And even though they were graced by this insight into their friends lives, he and Tooru were aware of the fact that sometimes they didn’t share everything with them. It was just how the two worked, nothing to get offended by. He just hoped that if something really serious happened, that if for whatever reason they needed help, Hanamaki and Matsukawa would know that Tooru and Hajime would help them in any way they could.

That was all he hoped.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Takahiro is awake. He has been for a while, but hasn’t dared to actually wake up yet.

Issei looks so peaceful sleeping beside him. He is even snoring a bit. After all their years of friendship, Takahiro knows all too well how difficult it is for his friend to catch some quality sleep.

And it’s not like waking up Issei is an easy task, anyway. The boy could sleep through an earthquake if he wanted.

Also, the familiar silence of Issei’s room gives him the chance to gather his thoughts.

Yesterday… It’s weird, but now it feels like everything had happened months, even years ago. All the anger of the last night, it had somehow vanished, leaving in its place a weird feeling of nothingness. The feeling of a void.

That’s it. It’s more than feeling nothing. Takahiro felt like a lump of wood, that had been forcefully carved into a shape that didn’t make sense, and now he was left out, waiting to be reshaped into something logical once again.

To some degree, he’s conscious that this is just a passing state, just a phase. It will evolve into something else. Takahiro feels flighty - a side effect of when some of your beliefs are shattered so easily. This is uncharted territory, there’s no way to predict what will happen from here on.

Rationally, he knows what needs to be done for his family. His father’s probably still in the hospital with the bloody nose Takahiro gave him yesterday night. At this moment, the neighbourhood police station was probably filing all the testimonies gathered from everyone involved and some key bystanders - Jirou and Issei definitely, even if Takahiro doesn’t remember Issei giving his statement to the police.

They are going to be called again today or tomorrow to rectify whatever this situation was. There will be a decision to be made, but that’s not something he wants to think about right now. Whatever they’re going to choose… it will probably be something they’ll all regret in the future.

Instead, he only wants to stay where he’s now, there, on the old spare futon in Issei’s room, listening to the steady snoring of his best friend at his side - grounding, reassuring, like his arms surrounding him yesterday night when he crumbled to pieces - slightly blinded in the right eye by that sliver of light that always filtered through the curtain of Issei’s window. They never closed all the way, but it didn’t matter. Takahiro loved all the little details. If they were ever repaired, he’d probably be more than a little peeved.

It was fundamental in that moment, for things to stay as they were. He had a plan.

For fuck’s sake! He’d been planning all of this, what will happen after graduation, since the first moment he knew that he didn’t want to be like his father. A failure of a man unable to stand back up. Takahiro is stronger than him. He always gets back up. He always punches back. He will never be as passive as his father has been since...

Then, why did he have to come back and ruin everything?!  
Their life hadn’t been shitty enough before what happened last night?  
No, of course not! Of course he had to come back and wreck whatever dignity they had constructed for their family, of course he had to come back and…!

Takahiro freezes, listening to Issei turn and huff in the futon next to him and only in that moment does he realise that he’s trembling. Fists and teeth clenched, his body rigid under the warm futon cover.

There it is, the same blind fury of the night before.

Moments pass in utter silence, only interrupted by the steady huffs and puffs of Issei’s breath.

Slowly, Takahiro turns his head to look at his friend. He’s sleeping peacefully, back turned to him, half out of his futon. The mass of dark curls seems even more unruly than usual.

Takahiro turns back to look at the ceiling, trembling for an entirely different reason now. He can’t do this. He’s not over this yet.

Takahiro sits up, silently lifting the futon cover from himself and carefully folding it back. In the same terrified silence, he stands up and slides the shoji closed behind his back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Issei wakes to the sound of the bell that announces lunch. His desk is the worst place to fall asleep on ever, but everywhere is a good enough place when he’s as tired as he is today.

Everyone is filing out of class, directed to wherever normal people have lunch. Places like the cafeteria, or the school courtyard or other classrooms. But Issei takes his bento and heads in the opposite direction, to where the stairs for the rooftop are.  
That’s because, ever since they started having lunch with Oikawa and Iwaizumi, their beloved captain had been adamant about having it in the most high-schoolish place.  
Even if it’s scorching hot in the summer, freezing in spring because the wind was especially strong up there, almost unusable in autumn and definitely not usable in winter, it’s their place. With all its flaws, it’s been their place since their first year of high-school.

When he gets there, Issei’s greeted by the usual bickering voices of Iwaizumi and Oikawa, arguing over who should have the last piece of fried chicken left in Iwaizumi’s bento. Oikawa was trying to trade it with one of his sausages, but it seemed like Iwaizumi didn’t consider it an equal exchange.

“I offer two bites of my…” Issei says as a greeting, checking the content of his bento, while sitting next to the couple. “It seems like okonomiyaki with tofu and vegetables? I’m not really sure. Anyway… two bites for that last piece of chicken.” He declares, uncapping the bottle of barley tea his sister Momoko left on the kitchen counter for him. There’s a reason why she’s his favourite.

“Deal.” Iwaizumi says, picking up the contended piece of fried chicken with his sticks and placing it in Issei’s box, and taking up instead two pieces of okonomiyaki.

“Iwa-chan! I was trading with you before Mattsun came here! You should have given it to me!! I had… pre-emptive rights on that chicken!” Oikawa protested, while stealing one of the two pieces of okonomiyaki Iwaizumi just placed in his own box.

“Your bargain wasn’t as good as his… Hey! That was my okonomiyaki, Crappykawa!”

“You betrayed me for this… Oh my! This is good Mattsun! Who made it?” Oikawa exclaimed while happily munching on the bite. “Was it Momoko, Fumie or your mom?”

“Hm… Dunno. I think it was Momoko’s turn last night. She’s been getting a lot better since she joined that cooking club at school.” Issei said while savouring the perfectly seasoned fried chicken. It was without doubt directly from “Izumi no Hasu” because only Iwaizumi’s dad did it with that spicy and lemony turn at the end. It had been a really good trade.

“Well, give her my honest compliments on her cooking!” Oikawa adds before looking around and staring pointedly at Issei. “Anyway, where’s Makki?”

“Your text last night left us worried.” Iwaizumi interjects before Oikawa says anything more. “What happened?”

And Issei really wants to answer all their questions, but he doesn’t know where Makki is at the moment.

When he woke up that morning, the futon next to him had been already folded neatly, and when he asked his mom about it, she said Takahiro had left early to go home and collect his things for school.

Issei had been ready to tell Hiro to take it slowly, to stay home that day. He wasn’t in any condition to go to school, if he was in the same state as the night before. But when he rushed out of the door with his school bag, headed to Takahiro’s house, he had encountered Ayame, going in the opposite direction to pick up Fumie, and she said that Takahiro had already left for school.

Takahiro had left for school without him, and since last night Issei hadn’t been able to talk to him. They were in different classes, but having lunch together was one of their few moments together at school outside of volleyball practice. And yet, Takahiro wasn’t there today. Issei had the distinct feeling he’s not just late. Hiro won’t be coming to lunch with them today.

With everything that happened last night, he shouldn’t be surprised, but this is Takahiro. Takahiro, who fights back, who never backs off, Takahiro that always gets up if he falls down.

It’s not like him to keep his distance from them, from Issei. He'd expected his friend to be there with them, unfazed as ever by the weirdness of life, but the reaction Hiro had last night when they were alone should have been enough to let him know this time would be different.

Issei slowly swallows his food, before lifting his pensive stare to look right at Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

“Yesterday night Hanamaki’s father came home drunk, as he has some other times after docking. You know how he is by now…” the couple in front of him nods at his words. This is not the first time they’ve heard about Hanamaki’s father’s drunkenness.

“Normally, he comes home drunk, spends half of the night crying and blubbering while Junko-san calms him and that’s it. The next morning he’s up and quick to get away from their home.” Most of the times, this is what happens, and Issei for an instant wonders if he should say anything more than this. Explain all the different shades of what happens after Katsuya leaves, but that’s not his place to tell. Besides, that’s not what happened last night.

“But last night he was...angry?” He wasn’t there, Issei didn’t know what happened in detail. He didn’t see it. He was just there in time to calm Takahiro and hear what happened from the reports the police were listening to while he kept his friend safe. But he wasn’t there to witness all the anger, all the fear, all the delusion Hiro’s eyes reflected after he had calmed down.

“I don’t really know how it happened, but it seems that Hanamaki’s father attacked his wife.”

Oikawa stares at him shocked. He doesn't know Hanamaki’s parents as well as Mattsun, but he would have never imagined something this shocking happening.

“Hanamaki found them, right?” Iwaizumi interjected, with a disgusted turn of his lips.

“Yeah… He found them, and also Ayame hidden under the table while everything happened, and he just… lost it. I think he dragged his father out of their home and then proceeded to beat him in their courtyard.” Issei takes a big breath, and the two in front of him wait, Iwaizumi’s burning stare giving off all the anger he’s feeling for the story Matsukawa is telling them.  
  
Recalling this part was painful for him. Hiro’s eyes in that moment were so hurt. He can still feel how is friend was suffering even now.

“That piece of shit…” Oikawa murmurs, his lips stretched in rage for what his friend was experiencing.

“Yeah, I arrived just in time to separate them, but I’ve never seen Hiro so angry… My brother called the police, someone called the ambulance too ‘cause Junko-san was injured and Katsuya-san too, and while Takahiro had to give his statement to the agents he was calm, but just a word from his father was enough to throw him back into that horrific anger.”

“I’d probably react the same” Iwaizumi adds without a second thought. “If anyone dared to touch my family like that…!”

“It wasn’t someone at random, Hajime! It was his father, not just some random person. His father!” Oikawa interrupts him, any lightheartedness from before forgotten. “I can’t imagine how Makki’s feeling now… Are Ayame-chan and his mom okay?”

Issei nods at the question, having followed the whole exchange between the two with a little bit of pride and fondness. He knew they would have been as eager as him to help Takahiro.

“Junko-san’s hands were injured, but with proper medical care she’ll soon be fine, and I ran into Ayame this morning while she was going to wait for Fumie, but I think she’s still shaken from what happened. She seemed okay but I don’t think she really is.”

“And Makki? How’s he? Where is he now?” Oikawa asks after a moment of hesitation, almost as if he’s sensed how Issei was reluctant about addressing the matter.

“He wasn’t well last night. He slept at my house. He wasn’t in any state to stay near his family like that. I hoped it would help him get himself together, but this morning when I woke up, he had already left and Ayame told me he had already gone to school when I went to wait for him as usual.”

After this, there was a moment of silence no one was sure how to fill.

To everyone this seemed so unusual coming from Makki… This wasn’t how he behaved. But what happened was anything but usual. And still, the fact that Hanamaki wasn’t there with them, that he didn’t let Issei know about his whereabouts, was probably the most alarming detail of all this story.

There’s a shift at Issei’s side and Iwaizumi’s warm hand is on his shoulder, gripping it lightly. “He’ll come around, Matsukawa. He just needs time. We should all give him some time to sort out his thoughts.”

“Iwa-chan is right, even if I’d like to listen to what Makki has to say too.” Oikawa shrugs, before adding “If he needs time then that’s what we’ll give him. Besides, he knows that we are here for him, if he ever needs us.”

Issei looks at the both of them, raising just an eyebrow to convey all his dubiousness about it.

“I’ve known him for a long time, but that’s the first time I’ve ever seen him behave like that.  
I hope everything will get better,” Issei answers after a while, letting everyone know that for the moment the conversation is put on hold. He resumes his lunch, but his eyes aren’t focused on anything in particular, too preoccupied with thinking about why Takahiro isn’t there with them now.

The worried glance that passes between Oikawa and Iwaizumi, is lost on him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: I'd like to apologize for the long wait. This chapter was tough. I cut down a lot of scenes and maybe it could use some improvements more, but at the moment this is the best version I could do.  
> From now on, I'll try to keep up with the regular schedule of a bi-weekly update, but there might be times in the future when I'll have to take more time to write a chapter.  
> Don't despair and keep waiting for it. It will come! :)
> 
> As always, thank you to my wonderful, talented beta @a-black-painted-poetry, she really helped me a lot with this chapter and listened patiently to all the feelings I have for this fanfiction. Thank you for pushing me through this chapter!
> 
> And also thank you to @majxra, who listened to my non-stop ranting. You are a cutie. :)

One might say work is not the ideal place to get your emotions in check, but Takahiro stubbornly disagreed with this. For him, work was the perfect place for when he needed some time to collect his thoughts. It’s one of the few things he's most sad about moving away from when college starts.

Moving to Tokyo, it will be impossible for him to keep his job, but he not-so-secretly hopes to find something similar in the new city. Even though he is excited about studying law and beginning a new phase of his life, his part-time job in this not-so-well-known music shop is something he'll always miss.

He's been working here since he started working in his first year of high-school. The place is nice, if a bit over packed with CDs, vintage vinyls and a cramped soundproof room in the back of the shop for those who wanted to try some of the few instruments for sale.

The selection of musical instruments was limited, but they were good quality; mostly strings and a single drum set that no one ever actually came around to buying.

Takahiro had known Nobutaro-san long before actually working in his music shop. Issei’s grandma always asked him or one of her nephews to come here to buy the new string-set for her shamisen when one of the strings broke. She had helped him in so many ways - music being just one - but now he finds himself wishing she could help him some more.

There’s nothing wrong apparently. The shop is quiet. No customers inside. Some of the music he had suggested to Iwaizumi is playing in the background. Hip hop is not one of his favourite genres, but today it felt like a hip hop day. And even though it was Takahiro that suggested this particular album to his friend, he had come to associate it with Iwaizumi, since the guy enjoyed it so much.

It feels nice for a moment, as if he’s in the company of two very good people, surrounded by memories of Iwaizumi and Issei’s grandma. Unfortunately, it’s just a fraction of an instant and in the next, the nauseous sensation that had accompanied him since that afternoon was back.

He fiddles briefly with one of the piercings in his ears, making the little metal ball tinkle lightly against his nails. It’s a tic he developed as a way to calm himself, something he often misses doing when he’s at school, where he has to take them off. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. Right now, it’s not really helping.

Takahiro feels a bit nauseous, a bit disgusted. He doesn’t want to concentrate on where exactly this sensation stems from, but he knows.

Fuck, he was the one who caused it.

While mechanically dusting shelves full to the brim with used vinyls, he replays in his mind what happened just a few hours before and, in all honesty, he doesn’t know anymore if the decision he made is the right one.

 

* * *

 

 

The officers had come looking for him at school. He was in class when they arrived, watching his math professor scribble random equations for the class to complete. While everyone was furiously copying them in their notebooks and getting started solving them, he just kept staring at the blackboard without moving.

Who the fuck cared about some stupid equations?

Takahiro just wanted to be done with that day, but at the same time, he didn’t want it to pass. Some part of him was stubbornly fixed on keeping everything as it was, pretending nothing had ever happened. Just going on with his life like every other day quickly approaching graduation.

He’d go to lunch on the rooftop with his friends, goof around at practice and help Iwaizumi and Oikawa keep the honour of the third years high in their kouhai’s eyes, even though the only one that still gave them moon eyes was Kindaichi. Kunimi and Yahaba were too disillusioned with them by now, and Kyoutani was just Kyoutani. After school, he’d go to the music shop for his part-time job and then meet up with Issei on the way home. It would be a nice day as always.

But when he went to school that morning, ignoring everything had been incredibly difficult. Some things kept on replaying in the back of his mind. His knuckles remembered the sensation of hitting his father. He could still feel Issei’s strong grip around him from the night before.

He felt stuck and didn’t know how to unstick himself. Takahiro was trapped, and at the same time he feared what coming out of that cage would mean.

All his thoughts came crashing down all at once, when the school counselor knocked on his classroom door and entered, asking for Takahiro to follow him to his office.

The sound of pencils furiously scratching on paper stopped abruptly when he looked at the man, and it felt even more oppressive when he stood up, bowed slightly at his maths teacher, who appeared as confused as Takahiro at the unusual request, and excused himself from class while following the school counselor outside.

Great. Now everyone would know something was up. But the thought was dulled by some sort of fog that felt incredibly like a big “I don’t give a fuck” in his mind. In that moment, the only thing that felt real was the back of the police officers in front of his eyes. Everything else was just something that came out of a weird dream.

He found himself in the counselor’s office with two police officers. One had very kind and warm eyes, he thought, distractedly.

They were asking permission from the school to take him to the nearest station, to ask him some questions about last night, take again his deposition.

It’s something he found himself agreeing to - it was logical to take his statement again. The one he gave last night could have been misled by his emotions, but all the rationality in this world couldn’t erase what he was still feeling, his stomach turning and twisting at the thought of reliving all the sensations he had tried to bury in some dark corner of his mind for the whole morning. 

He didn’t want to, but this wasn’t something he could just ignore or not think about. He had to do this right now. 

Takahiro wasn’t one to run away from his problems. He faced them with all he had. It was something he prided himself on, but when he nodded and followed the officers out of the school, into a regular police car and then to their station, he could only feel the weight of it crushing him again.

He could steel himself all he wanted, but inside he felt as if he was betraying Sayuri-san while he watched the car stop and the kind-eyed officer open the door for him. Takahiro didn’t have the unwavering soul of a geisha in that moment. He fucking did not. And for a moment, thinking that Sayuri-san had been wrong about him all along, hurt more than the thought of reliving last night. He didn’t want to disappoint her.

The officers led him to a little office. It was cramped with paper and metal cabinets that looked like they would spill paper onto the floor at any moment. But the desk was surprisingly neat, just a notepad and a pencil next to the computer, already running noisily.

They made him sit in a chair, offered him tea which he took gratefully, and then Kind Eyes settled behind the screen, fingers ready to type, while the other officer sat halfway between him and his colleague.

This one had frowny eyebrows and a huge mole on his neck. He didn’t seem angry but the mole made him look a bit pretentious. It was weird, but instinctively Takahiro knew that Mole was the one that would ask the questions.

His hands tensed around the scorching warmth of the teacup in his palms. It was logical of him to be there, tell the officer what he saw last night in every detail he could remember, but in that moment Takahiro only wished to run away.

He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to feel it all again. He didn’t want to relive it all. He didn't… He fucking didn’t…

“Please, Hanamaki-kun, tell us what happened last night from the start.”

Mole’s voice surprised him, and Takahiro surprised himself even more when an eerie calm descended on him and his own voice didn’t waver when answering a brief “Okay” to the officer.

His hands never left the warmth of the teacup for the duration of the whole ordeal.

 

* * *

 

Issei finds him there, absentmindedly tuning and checking the few instruments in the back-room. The shop is empty tonight. No one would come in this late. That’s why, when he entered the shop and didn’t see Hiro behind the counter slouching over some magazine as usual, he went without hesitation toward that little room filled with obnoxious yellow light.

It’s a bit cramped in there, the grey spongy padding on the walls making it seem even smaller than what it really is. The floor is covered in thick carpet with weird colourful patterns and the glass door that should be closed to block any sound coming from inside, is left open. Not just a bit but open all the way, a sign that Takahiro doesn’t give a fuck about being heard at the moment.

His friend is inside, but he’s not looking at him. Takahiro probably hasn't even noticed him coming in and so Issei keeps watching him from a dark corner, feeling slightly like a creep but too fascinated by Hiro’s movements to care.

Hiro is sitting on the comfy drum stool and picking some strings on the old acoustic guitar Nobutaro-san purposely leaves there for him.

He’s humming something in that way he always does before actually starting to sing, low and with an alluring slow tempo, as if charging the tension in the air, making it vibrate right from his throat before letting it burst out, freeing the music that boiled up inside him.

Liberating. That’s the right word to define what Takahiro seems to feel in that moment. Music has always been a liberating act for him, and this one old song he is now singing… Issei finds it appropriate. It’s perfect for Hiro’s voice. It highlights all the things Issei likes about it. Its subtle roughness, the dark, warm feelings it leaves hanging in the air, like a caress on his skin, the raw stream of emotion running in it.

Maybe it’s weird, to think of a voice as something almost visible, but to him it is.

Takahiro’s voice is tangible, visible, present.

It’s rare nowadays to hear him sing so freely, he only does it here in the shop on nights like these when no one is around, or when they are in Issei’s room, murmuring and humming while Issei keeps the rhythm for him, too mesmerised by the strange fascinating animal Takahiro becomes while singing.

It’s not that he can’t recognize his friend anymore, but it’s difficult to stay quiet by his side whenever Takahiro sings. He has to move, to discharge some of the tension that accumulates with every new song in the air. Keeping the rhythm is a good way to keep himself distracted.

Takahiro’s voice is his ultimate power.

It takes all the emotions, all his little traits that made Issei fall in love with him, and expresses them to the maximum.

The urge to yank him toward himself, to brush his lips with his own, capture and taste them, it’s almost too strong for Issei to resist. 

So he keeps his distance. He enjoys the show from his hidden place in the dark.

The cold February air seems to turn hot and velvety in the presence of Takahiro’s music.

Or maybe it’s just Takahiro’s voice and how it sounds to Issei right now, despite the utter sadness of the song itself: low velvety hotness, warming the air, painting bluesy shades all around and making the hairs on his arms stand up in pleasure when a particular note makes its way toward him, giving away all the emotions Takahiro’s feeling.

It’s weird, but it’s incredibly endearing how Takahiro _feels_ the music. It’s almost as if he’s suffering and pouring all that pain into his voice.

Once he read an article which said that in a language he couldn’t remember, people didn’t say “to get a tattoo” but “to suffer a tattoo.”

In the article, it was explained that people of that culture believed that something engraved on your skin forever should leave a deep mark on your soul, hence suffering it.

Takahiro doesn’t have a tattoo woven upon his skin, he hasn’t suffered the multiple pricks of a needle full of ink in his skin, but he doesn’t need it. His voice is the ink that will paint all the suffering he feels, the whole world the canvas that will keep testimony of it.

And Issei just lets himself drown in it, appreciating whatever Hiro infuses his music with.

He’d be ready for it. To support him, to protect him, he’s sure he would be ready to take whatever Takahiro would decide fitting to throw at him. But at the same time, there’s a part deep inside himself that isn’t so sure of this, that somehow keeps dragging him back from his decision to be… bolder, in whatever he is doing right now. And he’s conscious that “whatever” sums up to nothing in this moment.

Issei keeps telling himself this is not the right moment to bring this up, to make his feelings noticeable to Takahiro, but in situations like these it’s fucking difficult not to tell him how incredibly beautiful he finds him, how strong and sturdy he is, how much he admires him for being so straightforward about everything, how much he is in love with him, the most perfect and flawed human being in the whole world for Issei. 

It’s borderline painful.

It’s the same kind of shattering pain he felt when he realised a few months ago “I’m in love with Takahiro.” Not “I’m gay” or “I like men.” “I’m in fucking love with Takahiro.” 

It was so incredibly specific it didn’t leave space for anything else for days. Issei thought about it constantly, unable to focus on anything else whenever he saw his best friend or talked to him. “I’m in love with Takahiro” was the first thought he always caught himself thinking. 

And the sensation hasn’t lessened with days or months. Time keeps reminding him how much he is in love with Hanamaki Takahiro. Even in this moment, even if he knows Takahiro is pouring all of the pain he’s feeling into his music, trying to work it out of his system in some way, he can’t help but fall in love a little bit more with him.

That train of thought full of pining is interrupted by Takahiro himself when he lifts his eyes from the guitar, the song reduced to just a soft picking of strings, and he sees Issei standing in that not-so-dark corner in silence. 

“Were you listening?” His voice is slightly lower than usual, but clear nonetheless, and if Issei is surprised by him saying something, he doesn’t show it.

“It was difficult not to. I liked it, by the way. Really good, Hiro.” Issei’s voice was a murmur too, above that soft picking of strings. 

Issei watches him while he puts the guitar on its stand, stretches on the small drum stool and then gets up. He follows his friend out of the room and back into the shop again, where Hiro plops himself on the wooden stool behind the counter, looking at him with tired eyes.

“Where were you today?”

“Ugh…! I don’t want to have this conversation right now, Issei…”

“You are going to have it right now, because everyone was fucking worried about you.” Issei calmly states, leaning against the other side of the counter, not letting Takahiro out from under his gaze. The whole day might have been forgotten for a moment, while he was watching Takahiro singing, but now no one could save Hiro from having to explain himself.

“You weren’t.”

“Yes, we were. Oikawa and Iwaizumi were worried about you. They aren’t here right now, but only because I managed to reassure them today at lunch, and then at practice and then just before going back home. Oikawa made me promise to text him right away when I found you” he adds quietly, watching Takahiro slump a little bit more on the counter. There’s a sigh, a few minutes more of silence and then Takahiro’s murmured words travel to him, clear enough to be heard. 

“I was at the police station. They wanted me back to hear my statement again and for some other things.” 

The silence coming from his friend is an invite to go on.

“I told them everything that happened last night again, and then they asked me something about getting a restraining order and such.” This part is what Takahiro has been mulling over, back and forth for the better part of the evening, still not sure about having made the right decision.

“And?”

“... I told them I agreed.” It’s said quietly, leaving it sit on the counter between them. “They are going to file a restraining order against my father. There will be some sort of process or a sentence, I don’t know all the details yet, but they said that if the whole affair goes on like it should, my father won’t be able to come within 500 meters of us or our home.”

The silence sits there on the counter between them almost too comfortably now, like a little greyish ball rolling back and forth, restlessly turning around. Takahiro has half an idea to flip it over, just to dispel some of the tension and nervousness forming around it, before Issei speaks.

“Did you talk about this with your mom or Ayame?” 

“... No, I didn’t.”

Issei’s eyes opened in an astonished stare, and he seems on the verge of starting a really pissed rant, but he catches himself before saying anything more.

Takahiro finds himself on the receiving end of a very particular stare, one all too common and unique to Issei. The one that said “I have no right to judge you on this, but goddammit Takahiro…” and with an afterthought he wonders what he will do when the time Issei actually loses his cool finally comes. He’s sort of eager and sort of terrified to find out. 

There’s a sigh and then Issei stands back up fixing him with a stare: “Do you think you made the right choice?” 

“... I don’t really know. But I don’t want him around us. Ever.”

Issei looks thoughtfully at his best friend, his strong as fuck best friend that’s currently playing with his ear piercings in that nervous tick of his, and that sometimes fucks up things already fucked up or maybe not, who knows. He might have made the right choice after all. 

He huffs a sort of annoyed sigh, but then a fond smile finds its place on Issei’s lips, and Takahiro knows that for the moment he is off the hook.

“Come on. Go tell Nobutaro-san your shift has finished. I think you have overstayed enough. I’ll wait for you outside.” He says while picking up his bag and heaving it onto his shoulder. “Plus, your sour face right now is probably making all the possible customers run away,” Issei adds with a joking smirk before heading out of the door.

Takahiro flips him off with a relieved pull of his mouth, before scampering up the ladder hidden in the back of the shop toward Nobutaro-san’s office to tell him he’ll close for the night. 

All the tiredness of the day is coming to him right now, but if he has Issei to support him back home he knows he’ll be okay.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, nice to see you again!
> 
> Guess you waited long enough for this.
> 
> As always, thank you for all your wonderful support and a big thank you to my wonderful beta. She's always the best. Thank you for helping me polishing this story and suffering with the characters with me. :)

24 hours have passed since “The Incident” and Takahiro is back at home, curled up in the sheets of his bed. It had always been there, under the window of his and Ayame’s room.

 

Ayame’s bed, against the other wall, far from the window, has always been placed there too.

  
She was scared of ghosts and thieves when she was little - honestly she still is, even if she doesn’t like to admit it - and the only way to have her sleeping in her own bed had been to place it against the wall. At first his parents had joked about how it would be good for the both of them to sleep in the same room; as if “protecting” Ayame from ghosts and thieves was Takahiro’s special task at night and the comforting huff of Ayame’s breath while sleeping was Takahiro’s lullaby to a full night of sleep.

  
In reality, they all knew things couldn’t be any other way. There was only one room for two children and inevitably, they had no choice but to share. Everyone’s pride was a little less hurt by pretending the joking explanation was the truth though, and so they went along with it.

 

At the beginning of his teens, Takahiro had hated the thing viciously. He wanted his own space where he could do his own things, invite his own friends, without the need to always take Ayame’s presence into consideration. But now… now it’s different.

 

He feels alone without her there, without the soft light of her phone’s screen lighting up every now and then with new texts from her friends, the absence of the squeaky sound of her mattress whenever she rolls over in her sleep to accompany him through the night.

 

For the first time in forever, he’s alone in their shared room. Ayame was staying over at the Matsukawa’s after Fumie offered to have a sleepover at her house, probably due to Mama Matsukawa’s subtle suggestions.

 

He knows why she did that. He knows and he understands.

 

Ayame was present when his dad assaulted his mom.

 

She saw the whole scene, hidden under their kitchen table, trembling in fear, and she was there to witness Takahiro’s violence too.

 

He grimaces at the thought. Even though he attacked his father to protect his mother… there was something else too. Something that whispered about repressed feelings, a long string of unanswered whys, lots of hatred accumulated over the years

The first punch had been for his mother, the second one for Ayame, and the third… the third had probably been for himself.

 

Takahiro rolls onto his side, the sheets twisting over his legs with the movement. The thought that he knows this, his mother knows it, and Ayame probably does too, makes him even more uncomfortable.

 

Issei hadn’t said anything about last night while they walked home together from the music shop after having wished Nobutaro-san goodnight, but he had the distinct feeling that Issei knows the reasons behind his punches too.

 

The thought only serves to make him sink further into his mattress. He’s not a violent person. He doesn’t like violence. But those punches had been satisfying, the only way he’s been able to let his father feel what he’s felt in all those years since the accident.

 

The thought that he found them satisfying doesn’t sit well in his mind.

 

He doesn’t want to feel so good about punching his own father, but despite that, Takahiro doesn’t think that he didn’t deserve it. His father probably knew that too, since that afternoon, at the police station, the agents had informed him that his father hadn’t pressed any charges against him. Not one.

 

When Takahiro had been told this, he had been shocked to say the least. It hadn’t taken him long though, to realise that this was because his father believed that he deserved Hiro’s punches. That his father acknowledged that he had hurt Hiro, and that despite his violence, he had forgiven him.

 

In the end, what good was that knowledge though?

He wasn't sure he cared right now about his father’s forgiveness. In this moment, he didn't feel he could accept it. In fact, Takahiro didn't want anything to do with forgiveness, even if there was something in his mind reminding him that wasn't how he should think.

 

It was wrong. He knew that on some level, but he didn't want to think about it, the memory of all that awakened anger was still too fresh in his mind.

 

The realisation only served to make Takahiro realise how twisted his family situation had become.

 

What sort of eighteen year old son understood this much about his father’s character?

Was it fair to him? Having to make decisions like those about his parents and his family?

 

Despite all his doubts, he had made those decisions alone, and yet, he didn’t feel mature at all when he had answered Issei’s questions about his afternoon at the police station. The way Issei had stared at him, in the moment when Takahiro had told him he had issued a restraining order against his father… to say it had chilled him to the bone was an understatement.  It was as if Issei had asked him plainly what the fuck was he thinking about when he signed the order’s request, but the silence had been enough to let him know his friend wouldn’t say another word about it.

 

It was as if he had told him that Takahiro was old enough to make his own shitty choices without needing Issei to give him a piece of his mind in return.

 

Takahiro appreciated this about Issei. It’s one of the reasons he’d say the guy is his best friend if he’d ever need to list them. At the same time though, it doesn’t sit well with him. Issei’s disapproval had been enough to rekindle the flame of doubts that had been clawing at him all day.

 

Was it right? Was it wrong? Takahiro doesn’t know anymore, but now it’s done and it’s not like he can take it back.

 

Also, he can’t take only himself into consideration right now. There’s his mom, there’s Ayame.

 

At the thought of his mom, an unpleasant sensation turns in his stomach, making him think of how she reacted to him when he’d come home that evening.

  
  


* * *

 

  


He had entered quietly, closing the door behind himself without making too much noise. He took his shoes off, letting them gently fall onto the cold pavement of their genkan instead of tossing them in the corner like he’d usually do.

 

It wasn’t that he wanted to be sneaky about his return, but at the same time he didn’t want to be noticed in that moment. The memory of what had happened last night in that house was too fresh. It seemed wrong to draw so much attention to himself.

 

His mom had been there, leaning against their kitchen counter with a cup of tea in her bandaged hand as if nothing ever happened.

 

The chairs were placed neatly around their kitchen table, the floor was clean. Every shard of glass or little droplet of blood that they hadn't managed to scrape off last night had vanished. If it weren’t for the bandages around his mother’s fingers nothing would have been different from any other night.

 

She’d welcome him with a tired but soft smile, asking him if he had already eaten and, if he hadn’t, what would he like. Ayame would come in offering one of the “experiments” from her home economics class and Takahiro would joke saying he didn’t plan to die today. They’d bicker over it, their mom reprimanding both of them for their childishness (neither of them was excused, especially Takahiro since Ayame had been genuinely offering the food she made at school). In the end Takahiro would cave in, declaring with an ostentatious tone his last will and testament, but he’d stuff his face with whatever Ayame had cooked because in reality it wasn’t bad at all.

 

He’d then tell his mom about his day, both at school and at work. He’d tell her about their practice, about his friends, about Issei, about what they were planning for their own house when they’ll move to Tokyo in a few weeks. She’d tease him saying he wouldn’t be so eager about it when he’d have to sort through his own dirty socks, and he’d answer back with something about how happy he was it were his own socks and not Iwaizumi’s. They’d laugh together over it without any real ill intent, because right after she’d offer him the same old trick to help getting rid of foul smells on clothes, the same one she had been using for all those years on his own volleyball uniforms and practice clothes, she’d remark.

 

Takahiro would say something along the lines of it not being true, because his clothes don’t smell that bad after practice, and they’d domestically banter like that until he was sent off to bed, with a final kiss on the cheek.

 

Tonight was different, though. There was no smile on his mom’s lips. Her eyes weren’t tired from a long day of work, but he could see a different tiredness in them, one that lingered in a more subtle way, as if seeping from somewhere inside her soul and barely surfacing in her eyes.

 

He had paused there in the doorway, his mom silent but looking at him. In that moment Takahiro felt like a little kid, as if he was suddenly five again and had been found stealing sweets from the little bowl they had in the entrance.

 

His mom never called him out on it. She just had to look at him to have him go to her and confess what he had done. Even now that he was taller than her, bigger, probably stronger, he kept his head down and entered the little kitchen.

 

His mom placed her cup on the kitchen counter and opened her arms, and that was the only signal Takahiro needed to let him know everything was okay, everything would be okay. She let him sink against her, snuggling his nose in that little junction between jaw and neck where she always smelled like flowers.

 

When he was younger that alone was enough to resolve whatever problem he had.

 

Now that he was eighteen, 25 centimetres taller than his mom, and he had to lower himself a bit to fit there, in that little place he had always defined as “his own place,” the problems stayed with him, but he could still feel the soothing feeling wash over him with the first little rub of his nose against her neck.

 

The bandaged edges of her fingers brushed over his hair, the ends of the strips that had already started to detach, tugging slightly at some of the longer strands. His mom kept caressing him like he was still a child, small in her arms, encased in a hug that defined the confines of his world.

 

Takahiro let her do it. It was what he needed in that moment, to be a child again in the protective embrace of his mom, even if just for that instant. To not think about decisions or his life, to just focus on living, breathing in the comforting smell of flowers on his mom’s skin.

 

They stayed like that for a while, the silence growing comfortable around them, until Takahiro huffed and murmured something with his face still pressed against his mom’s neck.

 

“If you talk like this I can’t understand you, Takahiro.” His mom never shortened his name. She used to say she had chosen it like that because she liked it whole.

 

Takahiro detached a bit reluctantly from her and stood, head still a tad lower than how he normally held himself. Considering all that had happened, it didn’t feel right to stand fully in front of her.

 

“I’m sorry mom… but I don’t know if it’s right or wrong anymore.” He felt like he was a child again, but his voice, deeper than what it used to be, a bit rougher too, betrayed the illusion. He was an adult. He had to face things like an adult.

 

The world asked him to be an adult at the ripe age of eighteen and he couldn’t shy away from this. Not even in front of his mother. Not when he had made adult decisions without her.

 

The weight of that responsibility kept growing on him with every new shade realisation brought. Was this how adults felt whenever they knew the choice they had made wasn’t exactly the right one?

 

Takahiro had considered himself an adult long before tonight, but maybe it wasn’t real, it wasn’t true. Only the impression a child had of an adult.

 

His mom kept brushing her fingers absent-mindedly through his hair, caressing the short strands from the darkening roots to the bright rosy tips. Silence lingered there for a moment, but in the end the soft rumble of her voice against his cheek cut through it.

 

“It's not wrong, nor right. It's what you thought was best when the officers asked you.”

 

Of course. Of course she already knew everything. The police officers had probably called home as soon as he had left the station.

 

“Obviously this doesn't mean I agree with what you decided alone, without talking to me first.” She continued without stopping the soothing motion of her hands, it was only her voice that let him know how much she didn't agree with him.

 

“You cannot make decisions for me or Ayame, Takahiro.”

 

“Mom, I couldn't let him come back as if-”

 

“I appreciate it very much, my love.” She had stopped him mid-sentence with such a stern voice, despite her fondness seeping through, that whatever protest he had died on his lips, “but this house is mine and your father's. You cannot take this away from him.”

 

“I didn't want… Mom… I didn’t want him to come back and hurt you or Ayame while I wasn't here to protect you both.”

  
This was hard to say. It was the final blow when Takahiro had agreed to sue his father for assault. The deciding factor in the restraining order, but also the condemning last straw against his own pride.

 

Because in the end, he was going to leave them too, just like his older brothers did.

 

He knew his mom was an incredibly strong woman. She had made sure they grew to the best of her capability, trying to be there for every important occasion. She was a fucking badass woman who worked in a factory most of the day and came home at night, dead tired, but still managed to wait for her youngest son to come home and ask him how his day had been. Everyday, she found the energy to be there both for him and for Ayame, to let them know they had a family despite not living all together, despite their father not being his old self anymore.

 

She kept their family alive with the strength of her presence and pure stubbornness.

 

And yet, Takahiro had also witnessed her darkest moments. Nights when she had been too tired and had fallen asleep on the kitchen counter, thread and needle still held precariously between her fingers. He had seen her look from their kitchen window, waiting for the familiar silhouette of a man coming from the dock’s street that never appeared on their porch. He had seen her grit her teeth and start again with swift fingers on the calculator, scratching numbers and writing things anew, trying to make ends meets at the end of every month.

 

“That’s not your job, Takahiro.” The steel in her look was softened at the edges by something that Takahiro couldn’t exactly put his finger on, whether it was guilt or fondness, but it was there nonetheless.

 

“I’m your mother. It’s not your job to protect me or Ayame. I’m the one that protects you, if there ever be the need for protection..- !”

 

“But he…”

 

“He’s not someone you have to be afraid of.”

 

“Mom! How can you say that?! That fucking monster -! ” He had shouted in their little kitchen, pointing at the door as if he could come in any moment.

 

“Your father is not a monster Takahiro!” Her determined stare was something that had made him shiver as a child, but he was bigger than her now. Why couldn’t she see this?  
  
“He hurt you! Stop talking as if it isn’t true!”

 

Silence had fallen upon them after Takahiro’s final shout. He hadn’t wanted to say it in that way. He really had wanted for things to go differently, but how could she say something like that when she still had the bandages from last night on her hands?

  
How could she still try to justify him, even when there was no justification for what he had done to her?

 

She couldn’t ask anything different from him. She was his mom, how could he just not want to protect her, to defend her, when she needed it.

 

Hands shaking in frustration and upset that he had yelled at his mom, Takahiro looked down and walked slowly away from her. “I’m going to sleep.”

 

* * *

 

 

He hasn’t been able to escape thoughts of their argument since he had told her he was going to sleep.

 

That’s not how he wanted things to go. March is coming faster than he expected it. He will soon leave, just like his brothers did. Regrets and fears will come with him to Tokyo.

And even with miles between them and a restraining order against his father, he knows he won't be able to really think about anything else.

  


 

* * *

 

  


Graduation dawned upon them one fine March morning before they could even recognise what it was.

 

Suddenly exams had ended, club activities were forgotten. In the whirlwind of goodbyes and keep in touch and thank yous for these years, Takahiro, Issei, Tooru and Hajime had graduated from high school.

 

That morning had been surreal. The whole ceremony had passed in a jiffy, the best student of their year had prepared a three pages long speech, but to all of them it felt like he had just opened the papers when it had already ended.

 

They had gathered with all their classmates, took the usual photos, exchanged contacts and shared the last joke, the last laughs. Their kouhais had come to see them. Yahaba had even tried to hide the glassy look in his eyes when he had tried to one-up them with the last “Finally! It was time we got rid of you all!,” but no one believed him. Oikawa had taught the next captain-to-be well, everyone knew he couldn’t be more ready than he was, and yet it was clear in the downturn of his lips the question that seemed to be written on the faces of the new Seijoh team: “How will we go on without you all?”

 

In the end, they had found a quiet moment up there on the rooftop, the place where they had shared so many lunches together, so many conversations, jokes, and even impromptu revelations.

 

They just sat there for a while, enjoying each others presence.

It hadn’t always been like that - and recently, with all the problems that had been steadily growing around Takahiro it had been hard to believe it could be anything different - but the sensation of being a team hit them at full force.

 

They were The Seijoh Third Years. Things could happen, things will happen in the future, things that would divide them, or make them want to rip each other’s throats apart, but in that single moment they felt like one.

 

Each one of them was different from the other, but somehow, they worked well together.

 

For a moment, for a single, perfect moment, with the warmth of the spring sun on their faces and the faint scent of cherry blossoms around them, they felt invincible.

 

**********

 

“...Did you bring everything?”

 

“Yes, for the thousandth time I did.”

 

“Where’s your knee brace Oikawa?”

 

“On my fucking knee! What the fuck, Mattsun we haven’t even left the station and you’re already starting to -”

 

“We believe that Iwaizumi deserves a little bit of vacation too, so we decided we could be your Iwa-chan’s for the next...two hours of train ride”

 

“We both need to be Iwa-chan’s because he’s the only one that could bear to be the real one you know… with all that entails.”

 

“Come on. We even brought milkbread for you, how amazing Iwa-chan’s are we?”

 

“...You are nothing like Iwa-chan.”

 

“You know… I almost won the last time we arm wrestled. I bet I could pass off as a convincing Iwa-chan.”

 

“Pfft. Your arms are not even close to Iwa-chan’s.”

 

“Get rekt, Hiro.”

 

“...HOW DARE YOU?! I worked damn hard to almost defeat him!”

 

“That’s the key, Makki. Almost.”

 

“I’m gonna hold this milkbread hostage for the whole trip.”

 

“You wouldn’t…!”

 

“Oh, yes I would! And it was Issei’s mom that baked it, just so you know.”

 

“You little bastard…!”

 

“I didn’t know I was gonna commit murder before even arriving to Tokyo, but I must have underestimated you all.”

 

“Come on Iwaizumi. You have to be strong for the next three to four years, depending on how things go. It kinda seems like jail.”

 

“Don’t talk to me, you traitor. Not when you started this.”

 

************

 

Tokyo welcomed them with a bright sun above their heads, lots of people bumping their shoulders when they waited more than five minutes to get off from the platform, and the shine of novelty on everything they placed their eyes upon.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading till now! 
> 
> Guess it's clear for those of you who have come this far, but with this chapter the first part is officially finished. Next chapter (which I don't know when I'll be able to get it out since I'm starting to work tomorrow) will mark the start of the College au part of this fic.  
> I've been waiting for a while for this actually!  
> We will have lots of new entries, tags will probably change a bit )be sure to check them first next time!), new characters here and there, and lots of lighter moments. It's gonna be angsty all along, but I'm gonna sweeten it, just a bit.  
> Can't wait to start writing it! Can't wait for you to read it! :D
> 
> Anyway, as I already said, I don't know if I'll be able to write another chapter for December - I've lots of other fics that will be out in December though, ops spoiler - but I'll try to give you chapter 6 for January hopefully, if finals don't kill me first.
> 
> If you want to talk to me in the meanwhile, you can find me at kayejwrotes on Tumblr, as always, or even on Twitter! Yes! I've Twitter, same name as Tumblr too! But it's easier to find me on Tumblr.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are very much appreciated and thank you for reading till now! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who’s working on this again?  
> If you follow me on Twitter or Tumblr you probably were expecting this, but I hope it will make for a good surprise anyway. 
> 
> It’s a short chapter, I know, but like AO3 keeps reminding me when I had my not-edited text “brevity is the soul of wit” and beside, I guess I paved the way for a bit of happiness in their life with this chapter, haven’t I?
> 
> You asked for some happy times and so I delivered this small transition chapter. 
> 
> I hope you’ll enjoy it!

“Is this the last one?” Issei shouted from the top of the stairs, the heavy box balanced precariously on the last step.

“Yes! From now on it's only our luggages!” Tooru shouted back from the bottom, already hauling the first case on, starting the long ascending toward their third floor apartment.

They had arrived in Tokyo nice and early and even from the first step out of the train station they could already tell this: here the air felt different. 

Tooru had told it right away when they had stepped in front of their new apartment building, before sitting himself on his suitcase while they waited for the truck with all their things that couldn't fit in a suitcase.

It wasn't a matter of air  _ per se. _ It tasted different, felt different on their tongues, fell differently in their lungs. It wasn't a matter of what it lacked compared to the air back home, or all the smog that was certainly at an higher level than in Miyagi. It was just different and at the moment that had seemed like the most amazing thing.

Right now, the only thing Hajime felt missing were the zelkovas lining the main street. They were gonna be beautiful that spring in Sendai. But, for what was worth not many other things were that different from before.

Tooru was already chatting with the old grandma they had encountered while the landlord gave them the tour of their new apartment, all cheeky smiles and winks, cheery and looking for everyone like the image of the perfect charming boy from the next door, even while he was taking up their luggages on the stairs.

They had been lucky from the very beginning: the elevator had broken right the night before their arrival, or so the landlord had told them, so they had no other option but to bring everything up by themselves without any help. They were really grateful now that most of the appliances were already in the apartment and all they had to bring up was only their possessions and some other things, like the couch.

Despite this no one had felt like complaining, not when Hajime had simply shrugged at the announcement and took up the first box effortlessly, going up the stairs like it was no big deal. As if he hadn't taken up one of the kitchen supplies box, full of plates and pans and that one heavy wok his mom had refused to let him go into Tokyo without. 

Issei could swear that in that moment he had seen the rare competitive spark in Hiro’s eyes burn to life. His friend had quickly took up the heaviest box he could find and followed Hajime up the stairs. Step after step, the moving in had started to look more like a competition but maybe it payed off since now they were almost finished in record time.

 

At the moment, Issei was presumably dead on the cool floor in front of their apartment, the last box of books or maybe kitchen appliances - Tooru's chicken scratches where unintelligible on a good day and simply hieroglyphs on a bad one - he wasn't sure about that. 

 

Takahiro was meticulously dividing what belonged to whom, taking things into their respective rooms and just losing a fair amount of time fooling around with them. 

Every single one of the things he took from the boxes led to an infinite string of memories and he’d been oohing and aahing at every single trinket unearthed from the boxes, chatting to whoever was closer about it, with no great responses except for Hajime.

He could call him their official obaa-san as much has he wanted, but Hajime wasn’t any better than him considering how much he tended to let himself be distracted by that too. 

 

Issei looked at them from his flattened position on the floor, watching the two chatting happily over an innocuous mismatched sock that had nothing to do with the box it had been taken out. From what Issei could gather the box said “Books” but with Tooru’s penmanship, well it could really be anything. 

Ah, apparently the sock was Kindaichi’s, lost in one of the many battles they had in the lockers and mysteriously coming out of their moving boxes now. They were both caressing the sock fondly and remembering that one time Kunimi had used it as an elastic for some tennis ball thrown up from somewhere. They both looked like a old couple of grandparents looking at their nephews baby clothes.

He guessed they should start calling them Obaa-san and Oji-san from now on.

 

Issei looked around searching for the fluffy cloud of Tooru’s hair somewhere but he was nowhere to be seen, nor to be heard.

He turned on his side, ear on the pavement, searching for the tell-tale stomps of his friend’s fairie-like feet, but only the quiet voices of Hajime and Takahiro resounded around.

 

It was all so domestic and relaxing that Issei founds himself closing his eyes. Faint breeze caressed his skin, taking slower, deeper breaths with every passing moment.  So that’s how new adventures sounded like, uh?

 

——————————————

 

Issei woke up a few hours later, when someone nudged him delicately from his position on the floor.

Tooru’s face appeared in front of him upside down, a hand over his shoulder and a soft smile on his lips.

“We thought you’d probably would have liked to be woken up.”

Issei felt his back crack when he sit up, but the sight around him quickly made him forgot about how uncomfortable sleeping on the bare pavement actually was.

It seemed like his friends had finished unpacking while he slept, because now the apartment really looked like they lived there.

On the couch there were some blankets, carefully folded on the back and ready to be taken for a quick nap.

They had put their books on the shelves, and Issei noticed with a smirk how Oikawa’s dvd collection had a whole shelf of its own.

Down the corridor he could still see some boxes peeking out from Hajime's and Tooru's bedroom but otherwise everything seemed like it had already found its place.

Turning around, he saw that there were no more plates and pans out, but everything was already stored in its own cabinet, and Hajime and Takahiro were making quick work of the groceries sitting on the countertop too. 

Oh, so that was where Tooru had gone.

“Don’t worry, Iwa-chan wrote the list, but I made sure to add some extras since it’s our first night here and we should celebrate!” Tooru grinned at his slightly worried look, standing up and going to help them putting away the groceries. 

Issei stretched his arms and then stood up too, following his friends behind the small partition that divided their kitchen from their dinner room.

How nice it felt to label everything as “theirs”?

“That’s nice to know, since I wouldn’t have wanted to eat only vegetables for the next week.” He joked, laughing earnestly when Hajime throw him a nasty glare, but he was smiling too.

“You know, vegetables are good for your health.”

“And so it’s natto, but it’s still disgusting.” Takahiro quipped in, putting away another box of curry.

There was a moment of silence and everyone nodded in understanding.

“Anyway, we’ll have to eat vegetables at least once a day.” Hajime remarked.

Issei smiled leaning on the counter, clapping his hands twice and mimicking a prayer “Thank you, oh wise Hajime-okaasan for worrying so much about our vitamins intake!”.

Everyone lounged into the first Epic Rag Battle happening in their new apartment.

Needless to say, Hajime emerged as the only winner from the very beginning.

 

——————————————-

 

Call them cheesy, but watching the sunset was falling down on the first day of their new life, sitting on the rooftop of their new apartment building, beers in their hands, soft music and the hustle of Tokyo under them as a background noise, Issei smoking silently beside them, it all felt right . College life. 

Who’d have said that they’d be here in Tokyo last year?

Takahiro wouldn’t, but he didn’t really want to linger on that right now.

Atmosphere playing in the background, something soft and chill, just a little bit metallic since it was coming from Hajime’s phone’s speaker. 

He’d played his soft hip hop playlist nonstop for the whole day and no one had really complained because it was the sort of background they needed for moving in, for changing their skin, for finally realising this was it. 

The moment they’d thrown back their high school days. 

It had bittersweet aftertaste that morning, when on the train they’d watched the countryside pass by, but right now the sweet was starting to prevail on the bitter, like a bite of lemony ice cream after you’d kept the it melting in your mouth for a while, and it tasted like freedom, fresh starts and new days to come.

No more parents around lurking, no more people looking Hajime and Tooru weirdly if they were holding hands like they were doing right now. 

No one around telling Mattsun he’d have to stop smoking because he was too young to do that, no one to tell Takahiro his clothes were too big for him and he had too many piercings to be considered decent and neat.

They were by themselves, sitting on the rooftop, sunset painting their skin pink and orange and purple, lilac shading their faces while they lounged there, faint music floating around and beer cans to sip some sort of lemony thing too light to really be called beer. But who cared.

They were now adults, and in that moment they all felt as if something was lifted from their shoulders.

It’d probably suck some days, it would probably be awful, and tiring, but right now, in this moment, nothing felt more real than the realisation they could be themselves without restrictions.

  
  


—————————————

  
  


**_Ayame-chan_ **

**_Fri, April 3 201X_ **

**_23:47 pm_ **

 

_ Hiro-niiii! How’s Tokyo??? _

_ Sends lots of pics when the new house is ready and call us, ok? _

_ Mom’s wants to see if you managed to get all your things into that one closet you told us about. _

 

**_Ayame-chan_ **

**_Fri, April 3 201X_ **

**_23:49 pm_ **

 

_ Seijouro-nii came home today to “check on us” since you’ve left for Tokyo. _

_ I wanted to kick him but Hiroshi came too since he’s on vacation right now and he did it for me. _

_ Best bro as always, isn’t he. _

 

**_Ayame-chan_ **

**_Fri, April 3 201X_ **

**_23:53 pm_ **

 

_ Tonight we had nabe and Mom actually teared up a bit because you weren’t here but I guess she’ll get over it soon, right? _

_ We told her you’re smart enough to not get into any troubles in Tokyo so she doesn’t have to worry. _

_ DONT MAKE ME WRONG HIRO-NII! _

 

**_Ayame-chan_ **

**_Fri, April 3 201X_ **

**_23:53 pm_ **

 

_ I bet with Hiroshi you’d take at least a semester before getting into any troubles.   _

_ Don’t make me lose, I really want that new cookbook he promised to buy me if I win. _

 

**_Ayame-chan_ **

**_Fri, April 3 201X_ **

**_23:57 pm_ **

 

_ Also, give Mom a few days before calling her. _

_ She didn’t want to sound worried or anything when talking to you. _

_ She doesn’t want you to worry, but you already know this. _

 

**_Ayame-chan_ **

**_Sat, April 4 201X_ **

**_00:03 am_ **

 

_ It feels weird to not have you around.  _

_ I hope you are okay in Tokyo. _

 

**_Ayame-chan_ **

**_Sat, April 4 201X_ **

**_00:07 am_ **

 

_ Miss you, Hiro-nii. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up:
> 
> \- Tokyo is a big city but not as much as they thought.  
> \- College is **hard**  
>  \- Issei needs to sort things out
> 
> Hi everyone old and new (that’s if someone new discovered this little fic, so welcome!!), I hope you enjoyed this small chapter and I’m also working already on chapter 7. I hope to release it before December but let’s not say it too loudly.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments really get me going and I’m grateful for each one of them. Also, if you wanna chat a bit with me, you can find me at kayejwrotes on both Tumblr and Twitter!  
> Thank you for reading this! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and reviews are very much appreciated, and if you'd like to talk to me about it you can find me on tumblr at [kayejwrotes](http://kayejwrotes.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading!


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